


with my arms open wide

by murdork



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 20:52:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10499256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdork/pseuds/murdork
Summary: They're beautiful. Just like the person who gave them to him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is labelled "fuckign. soulmates bud" in my phone. this may or may not become a series!! idk yet

  
Jack can't help but notice the way the colour spreads over David's arm, bleeding a soft purple until it eventually tapers off. Katherine's hand– the cause of the colour– rests carefully there, a gentle greeting as she situates herself at their table.

Jack also can't help but notice the soft smile David gives her in return. He does retract his arm just slightly, which makes him feel the slightest bit better about the way his own colours have yet to grace David's skin. It's nothing personal, Jack knows this. A person's colours can be a sensitive topic, not everyone is comfortable letting them be known to the world. David is one of these people. He hasn't said it outright, but so far the only colours Jack has seen on him are the kind shade of green from Les, the distinct yellow of Crutchie, and the occasional shades of his parents' hands on his shoulder.

And now, apparently, Katherine's purple.

He's trying pretty hard to not look at it, but he can't help but focus on how strong it is. It's almost haunting, because when he and Katherine dated, he's pretty sure her purple never stained his skin like that.

He berates himself for going down that path, because the whole reason Katherine broke up with him was because she realized she was a lesbian. There's absolutely no reason to worry.

From Katherine he gets a flick on the forehead and a, "you in there?" A jab at the way he's been daydreaming, and subsequently missed a part of their conversation.

He doesn't have to look at his reflection in the window to know his forehead's now bloomed a lilac mark. They're close– even closer than they were when they dated (for a good reason)– and now that they don't have to fake intimacy, Katherine doesn't hesitate in her touches.

She's not as delicate with him as she is with David. Then again, no one is. It's not that David's delicate, it's just that there's something in the way he stutters sometimes and slouches in on himself that leaves people cautious. He's relatively new to their group, only truly finding his place with them a few months ago, and has yet to reach the level of comfort like the rest of them.

It hasn't stopped Jack from falling head over heels for him, though. It's pathetic really, the way his thoughts nowadays are occupied solely with David, with the occasional stray idea for a new art piece. It's just that David is so different from anyone Jack's ever met. He's quiet, contained, until he's suddenly not— suddenly he's alive and his mouth is moving too fast for anyone to keep up. Both sides have Jack swooning and waxing poetic.

He can barely contain a sigh. Katherine, of course, notices and flicks him once again on the forehead, her fingers staining red.

"Seriously? Not even a hello?" She's laden down with notebooks and pens, her notes now spreading across the table and threatening to overwhelm their coffee cups.

"Hi." He says just to get her to shut up.

"Something on your mind?" David asks, because he's always worrying after Jack, making sure he's eating enough and not letting his daydreaming nature turn sour.

It just makes Jack like him more. Up until recently, Jack hasn't had that. He's had endless support from Crutchie, and Race, and– on rare occasions– Spot, but he's never had someone worry so strongly about him.

If only he could delude himself into believing that this is something David does exclusively for him.

"Nah, just thinking. Thanks though, Davey." He makes sure to amp up his reassuring grin. He doesn't need David needling him about this topic. The last thing he needs is to blurt out his feelings. That would be a surefire way of insuring he'd never get to see his colours on David's skin— or even get to speak to him again.

Both Katherine and David seem to deem this an acceptable answer and continue on with their conversation about a professor who seems to have it out for them.

It had actually been Katherine who had introduced David to the group. She'd brought him by during one of their infamous get-togethers, introducing him as "the boy who keeps getting higher marks than me." David, of course, had looked down and muttered something about this being false, even though it wasn't.

His glasses had slipped from his nose over and over again as he'd said it, and Jack had been struck dumb by the sheer beauty in the boy before him.

That night had resulted in David situating himself into their hangouts, as well as Jack's heart (as sappy as it is to say.)

He can't help it. He's always fallen hard and fast. His colours bleed freely onto strangers in the form of shoulder pats and nearly-there brushes. The colours he gets in return are never quite as strong, but there's lots of them which almost makes up for it. One of his greatest fears is that David's marks will be no different than the barista's. Like water on his fingers, while Jack's own affections would be so brash and clear he'd have to bleach them off.

The chatter around him grows, and he tears his eyes away from where they had once again fixated on David's arm to see that the table has been filled up. Crutchie and Race have sandwiched him between them, and Spot has successfully stolen a chair from an unsuspecting victim. He sits next to David, careful to leave space between them even when there isn't much in the coffee shop to spare. Spot's the same way David is, but louder about it. His red isn't the same as Jack's. It's hard to  
come by, and for awhile Spot wore heavy gloves to avoid awkward encounters.

The café is packed, like it always is on Mondays after class, but it's their place and always will be. Partly because it's the only place that makes the hot chocolate Crutchie loves so much.

"I told him not to put in the vanilla," Spot grumbles down at his drink.

Race laughs. "It's a vanilla latte, what did you expect?"

Katherine nods in agreement, which Spot seems to take great offense to. Jack can sense a storm brewing in their tense shoulders. Despite being friends for two years, Katherine and Spot have never truly clicked— unless it's to knock some sense into some asshole. They're a frightening duo to see in action.

In order to avoid causing a scene, Jack stands up and says, "here, I'll go fix it."

He grabs the cup before Spot can protest.

Crutchie catches him by the wrist before he turns to leave, a yellow that rivals sunlight immediately drifting up Jack's hand. "Could you get me a hot chocolate?" He says, utilizing his freckles and big eyes.

Jack agrees, because it's impossible to disagree with Crutchie. "Anyone else want something?"

Immediately, three other orders fly out of the group's mouths. David, noticing that Jack just has two hands, says, "here, I'll come up with you. I need a refill before I go anyways."

"Ain't that your third refill?" The coffee cup has been there since Jack arrived, and has been refilled twice in the short timeframe they've been here.

David shrugs while Race says, "that's not healthy, Davey. S'not good to do that."

The line is just long enough to give them some alone time that Jack always craves when he's with David. He loves all of his friends, but David seems to come out of his shell more when it's a smaller crowd.

"You sure you're alright, Jack?" David says. "You've been quiet; which, for you, is quite unusual."

"I'm fine, Dave, just thinking." The worry lines on David's face are so out of place, and Jack would love to soothe them, but then his secret would be out, visible to the whole world. And most importantly, David.

"Thinking about what?"

He shrugs, not willing to fabricate an explanation. He doesn't like lying to David, but in this case the truth is unavailable.

He pays for David's to-go cup as an apology for his vague answers. He doesn't let him protest, just silences him with a look. He's cute when he's trying to be indignant. Then again, David's always cute.

"You didn't have to do that," David says as they walk back to the table, drinks in hand.

Jack navigates the labyrinth of tables carefully, focusing on not letting a drop spill. "I wanted to. You're working on your paper tonight, yeah?"

David nods.

"Then you're gonna need it."

When they reach the table, Jack sets the drinks down, but doesn't sit. David's leaving now, and he's a gentleman, he'll walk him to the door.

His other friends roll their eyes simultaneously at the directness of his actions. David collects his things, oblivious to the way Jack's hand hovers carefully over the small of his back. Not touching, but close.

It's when they're waiting for a taxi to notice David's outstretched arm that it happens. He's waving outrageously, unnecessarily on his tiptoes, when he's sidestepped by a businessman, and knocked off balance. Any normal person would right themselves, but this is David and he's particularily uncoordinated.

Jack has thought about their first contact a dozen times(more than that, if he's being honest.) He's gotten caught up in fantasies of drifting his fingers over David's cheek and watching it go red, or leaving his lips stained for days.

This is nothing like that. In fact, it's so quick Jack won't even register it completely. He acts on impulse like he always does, grabbing a teetering David by the waist and making sure he doesn't end up sprawled on the cold cement of New York City in March. David's own hands find Jack's shoulders. They're broader than his, though he's much taller.

They stay like for a moment, Jack caught up in David's eyes, in the way his straight nose is covered in freckles. A taxi, which has somehow miraculously appeared at the curb, honks its horn.

David steps away, instantly flustered. "Well. Uh, well. See ya." He gives a short little wave, and hops into the backseat. Jack can see him grimace at the fact that he waved to someone who was right there through the window.

He smiles, and mimics the wave just to see David smile as the taxi drives away.

He's in a daze afterwards, too unfocused to dwell on anything, even the rousing debate between Spot and Crutchie. It's only when he's at home that it hits him.

He's stripping off his shirt to take a shower when a flash of blue in the mirror catches his eye. He turns, slowly, like if he moves too quick it'll all disappear.

There, on his shoulders where David had rested his hands, are two deep blue prints. They bleed out heavily, stretching across his chest just a bit. They're a shade he's never seen before, something that's both gentle and electric. They aren't even close to faded, and they stand out against his dark skin.

He touches them gently, worried they might be a mirage. They don't waver. He traces them, his chest bursting.

They're beautiful, just like the person who gave them to him.

**Author's Note:**

> tbh the colour marks is p much the only soulmate au i like So. here ya go. ALSO lemme know if it was too heavy/too light on the colour stain thing i never know how to balance the info i give out abt in magical realism fics. yknow?


End file.
